


Xanadu.

by Kaesteranya



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-03
Updated: 2010-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 23:58:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesteranya/pseuds/Kaesteranya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The music and the rhythm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Xanadu.

**Author's Note:**

> …I know the prompt was meant to be for their first time ever, but I couldn’t get this image out of my head.

She’s on the bottom half of the bed and he’s near the top; there’s a digital music player between the both of them, and they’ve both got their own set of earphones. And they’re kissing (mouth-to-mouth, tongue against tongue) to the rhythm and rhyme of the music. They break away during the bridge – a mutual need for a little distance, for the desire to stop and stare at the face of their partner right before they drag each other over the edge.

  
“We have classes in the afternoon, you know,” Maka says, but her hands are busy pushing his tank top up and off of her Weapon’s body.

  
“We can skip,” Soul retorts, because it’s very hard to resist a disheveled-looking Maka, his one and only Meister, sprawled beneath him on a bed.

  
She blushes, he blushes, and they kiss again just when the bridge ends, and another stanza unfolds within their ears.

  
They’re done making out and raring to move on to the next step near the end of the song; Soul catches it just in time, puts the player on loop before slipping it into the underwire of Maka’s bra, right between her breasts. She shivers, of course, both because the metal’s cold against her skin and because Soul’s so close, so very close, but not nearly close enough. And he knows what she wants, doesn’t need to have the bond between them to be able to tell. He can see it, in the way her fingers and toes curl against the sheets, the way she squirms to press her skin against his.

  
He lifts her skirt, runs a hand over the smooth curve of her calf, her thigh, then over the cloth of her panties, right over her crotch. When he pulls that away, fingers her gently, she rises to an all new height, lips grazing his ear, gasping his name. He stirs her up, works up the heat, in tune to a crescendo.

  
Later, as he enters her, timed with the chorus/as she reaches out to draw him over her body like a living and breathing blanket, whispering out her favorite lines over his skin, they realize somehow, without really thinking about it, that it’s an act of trust, tangling together, dancing to the same song. He’s never been good with trust (because no one understands his jazz), and she’s never been big on romance (because it never worked for her parents) – they should be, in fact, that last two people on earth who’d come together this way.

  
Still: they’re young, they’re in love, and willing to give each other everything, no matter what, and maybe that’s all that matters.  



End file.
